


Kiss with a Fist

by orphan_account



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Angst, M/M, Physical Abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-25
Updated: 2013-01-25
Packaged: 2017-11-26 20:06:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 338
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/653939
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>No matter what happens, they always end up in bed together</p><p>Or, the one where Niall and Harry fight instead of just admitting they're in love</p>
            </blockquote>





	Kiss with a Fist

To call it a power struggle would be completely missing the point. It wasn’t like that. It  wasn’t healthy, either, but at least it was mutual. The damage probably came out to about equal and goodness know, they were evenly matched for strength. Harry slammed doors and Niall got roaring drunk and words and blows were exchanged, but at the end of the night, they always ended up in the same bed. They avoided Liam’s disapproving gaze and ignored Lou’s loud clucking at the marks scratch marks on Niall’s face and the way Harry lip is split again.

 

Niall is more likely to throw punches. He had an older brother to fight with, and anyway, brawling in the pub was a normal occurrence after a footie match. Harry’s always been the sensitive one, lashing out emotionally, all sharp teeth and desperate fingers. What do they fight about? Nothing. Everything. It never really gets better, just one long grudge match, made worse by the fact that neither of them will apologize or leave. Such a fine line, separating love and hate. Or maybe it’s just lust. That’s what Harry thinks. Niall finds it secretly comfortable; hurting Harry and having Harry hurt him. He always knew how he stood with Harry, even if he didn’t know where that was. It was predictable, irresistibly so in a life that had them sleeping in a different hotel every night, at least Harry was always in the bed with him.

And Harry could not deny that the sex was amazing. Mind-blowing, even. It was always hateful, sometimes rough, sometimes slow, gentle torture. He knew Niall’s body better than his own. No make-up sex, never. Just pent-up aggression and a mutual refusal to admit what was really going on.

Harry was not going to say it.

Niall was not going to say it.

No one was going to be the first to say it.

Love.

But in the absence of acknowledgment, it festered as hate. Niall and Harry wore the marks to prove it.


End file.
